


Keep Me Warm

by histoires_eternelles, ohstars



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Sam Wilson, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexuality, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020, Multi, POV Steve Rogers, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve is really cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/histoires_eternelles/pseuds/histoires_eternelles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars/pseuds/ohstars
Summary: When he first came into this century, Steve was so exhausted he didn't care where he slept, so the bed was nice. It was a dream after the Battle of New York, but that's long passed by now. After the awe of a fluffy, soft mattress wore off, Steve found it so uncomfortable. Sure, the idea was nice, but Steve's body wasn't made to sleep on clouds. He knows this is just how they make them nowadays, that just about every bed in this century is made to be soft and kind on your spine, so he makes do in other ways.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	Keep Me Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for checking this out, it's been a wonderful collaboration between histoires_eternelles and I for the Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020 event! Their art is just spectacular (literally stunning, it took my breath away) and I'm so honored I was able to write them this fic to accompany it! Thanks to everyone in the MRBB server and my wonderful beta, nomadicwolf, for cheering me on during this event. You're all amazing and I appreciate it so much. 
> 
> Let us know what you think!

## 

## ~*~ One. ~*~

Cold. Everything is cold. 

He sets his shield down as he closes the door. He's home, technically, but it doesn't feel like it. It's a nice place, but bare and like everything he touches, it's cold. It's a S.H.I.E.L.D issued apartment, one they use as a safe house when they need to. 

There's a couch and a small tv in the living room, that functions as the entryway, and a tiny kitchenette that's tucked in the corner, separated by a half wall. It's fancier than the place he had before the war, but it lacks the warmth he and Bucky decorated it with. Granted, all they had were hand-me-downs and furniture they found on the street and cleaned up, but it was theirs and it was special. 

Steve's breath catches as he closes his eyes. Even just thinking of his name sends Steve back to that train, hand outstretched toward his best friend as they dangle over the icy Alps, wind whipping their skin raw and transforming their screams to whispers. 

His teeth chatter. Steve's in uniform, but it's the middle of summer and his skin can handle extreme temperatures better than most, yet Steve is freezing. He hides it when he's around his new team or Fury's doctors, keeping to his two layers (his uniform with a compression shirt and short combo underneath) and suffering through the chills for twelve hours a day. 

But when he's alone? It's harder to hide the shivers and the goosebumps, to hide the ache of his bones and the blue of his lips. Steve's not sure why King Midas and Jack Frost decided to get together to curse him, but no matter how hard Steve tries he can't shake the ice from his veins. His theory is that it's from his nearly seventy years slumbering in the arctic, but it's been months since he was thawed, months since he joined the Avengers, and yet he still can't hold onto any warmth. 

Steve forces his legs to move toward his bedroom, where a king-size bed and a nice wooden dresser await him, as well as an ensuite bathroom. It's a luxury he still isn't used to. In his old place, there was only one bathroom for the entire apartment building, and that was seen as a perk as opposed to his childhood home that had an outhouse behind the building. Having his own bathroom blew Steve's mind, but that was before he was introduced to the shower. 

God, the shower. How he lived without one for twenty-five years, he'll never know. Steve walks into the bathroom and starts the shower, turning the handle all the way to the hottest it'll go. He takes off his boots and uniform, vibrating in place as the cool hair hits his skin. As soon as the steam starts pouring out of the top of the stall, Steve steps in. He practically melts on-site, letting the water boil his skin and warm him as best as he can. It helps a little, the initial heat keeping the chill at bay from the outside in, but Steve still feels cold. 

It's a strange sensation, to be standing in a small shower stall with blistering water spraying your skin off and warm steam billowing around you and yet his body can't keep the warmth in. Part of Steve wants to reach out to someone, beg them for an answer or a solution, anything to make it stop, but he knows he can't. 

Everyone is so careful around him as if he really is an ice statue at one of Tony's fancy parties instead of a super-soldier who's jumped out of planes and dove on grenades for a living (when he really didn't have to). They treat him like he's supposed to be some senile old man, just because he's not from this century, as if knowing how to use a computer or having a phone in your pocket makes you some genius and he's just an ignorant neanderthal because he's never even driven a car. Steve may have dropped out of art school and come from a time where the technology was rudimentary compared to what they have today, but he's not an idiot or fragile. So if he goes to them and tells them he's anything other than perfectly normal, they'll only get worse. They'll run tests on his brain, his body, and make him perform like some lab rat. No one will talk to him, not about anything personal (not that they do a whole lot of socializing at Avengers training), and Fury will probably take away his title as Captain America until he's mentally stable. 

He has a routine, one that he actually likes and maybe the only highlight of his new life. It has stability he couldn't find in the war, something he can depend on and feel secure with. Steve starts every morning with a run, then a small breakfast of eggs or a muffin, and then he goes to S.H.I.E.L.D for the day. Three days a week, he runs drills with the Avengers and spends the day coming up with strategies and potential battle plans for emergencies he prays will never occur. The other two, he trains and lets the S.H.I.E.L.D staff run their tests to make sure he's alive and okay. At least these are more standard and non-invasive compared to the first ones or what would happen if he were to say he needs help mentally; it's the physicals and wellness check exams he's okay with, Steve just wishes they weren't so frequent. And then once the workday is over, he drags himself home, where he showers, eats and heads to bed. On the weekends, he explores and catches up on all the tv and movies he's missed out on. It's a boring routine, but it's special to him. 

The water is cooling. Steve sighs as he washes his hair and scrubs himself down twice, making sure all the sweat and grime from the day is gone. 

Today was an Avengers day and it was nicer than most. Thor was back in town, so Steve didn't feel so alone. When Thor is around, he's not the only one on the outside of the joke or trying to understand the reference to whatever piece of media Tony quotes. It helps that Thor reminds him of his war buddies. If he'd been around when Steve was in the war, there's no doubt in Steve's mind he and Dugan would get along like a wildfire. He's no Bucky, but he's a friend and Steve needs one of those like he needs a bully to fight. 

They had grabbed dinner before he came home, trying out a new Indian restaurant near the S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters. It was weird, trying to navigate a new world with his equally confused friend, but they were catching on to the changes and the customs together. 

The hardest part of living in this new time is the loneliness, Steve realizes. He spent his entire life with his best friend by his side. And then he loses him and gets stranded in a century neither of them expected to live to see. 

Bucky was special to Steve. There was no one else like him in all of New York, and then all of Europe he had come to find. No one treated Steve as well as Bucky did like he was just another guy in the group. Bucky never let on that he was worried about the rattle in Steve's lungs or the way Steve's skin turned red after a few minutes of running around Brooklyn. He'd just pat Steve on the back and offer to get him a drink, then they'd be back to playing. 

The only issue between them was all on Steve. He was hopelessly in love with Bucky, nearly worshipping the ground he walked on. If Bucky knew or noticed, he didn't say anything though. He was kinder than most guys Steve knew would have been, especially during the thirties. There was no way Steve's feelings were normal, not back then, not in the eyes of his peers and the community he grew up in. He tried valiantly to ignore them, to go back to being best friends, but no matter what Steve did, he'd always circle back to the L-word when he looked at Bucky. 

Steve sniffles as he dries himself off, shivering from the change in air. He still can't believe Bucky is well and truly gone. It's been eight months in Steve's mind since he lost him, two of which he could barely process his grief because he was in the middle of a war. If he had, he probably wouldn't have gotten on that plane or at least not crashed it. 

He grabs a pair of boxers and tugs them over his legs. Steve doesn't like to think about the crash. It brings the chill to the surface of his skin, tingling like the icy water he drowned in, that held him hostage for decades. He doesn't like to think about how he was okay with death, accepting it like they were an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time. Steve was no stranger to the concept of dying young, but after he took the serum, he was sure that wasn't in his cards anymore. But he didn't think he'd really lose Bucky either, so what did he know. 

His dresser is filled with winter clothes. It's not even remotely time to wear them, but Steve needs them. He grabs a thick long sleeve shirt, then a henley, and a pair of fleece pajama bottoms. It's not enough to keep him warm, but it helps and that's all Steve can really do. 

It's later than it should be for his routine, but Steve doesn't mind. His brain is fried from talking strategy all day and he's too tired emotionally to handle being awake anymore. Steve stares at his neatly, Army-regulation made bed, and wills himself to give it another chance. 

When he first came into this century, Steve was so exhausted he didn't care where he slept, so the bed was nice. It was a dream after the Battle of New York, but that's long passed by now. After the awe of a fluffy, soft mattress wore off, Steve found it so uncomfortable. Sure, the idea was nice, but Steve's body wasn't made to sleep on clouds. He knows this is just how they make them nowadays, that just about every bed in this century is made to be soft and kind on your spine, so he makes do in other ways. 

Steve kneels down beside his bed and tugs his sleeping bag out from under it. It's one he made himself, taking a fleece blanket and sewing it into a contemporary sleeping bag he found at the store. It traps in the heat nicely and it takes the edge off sleeping directly on the floor without making Steve feel too comfortable. He unzips it and climbs inside, pulling a pillow off his bed in the process.

One day, he thinks, he'll sleep in a bed again. 

He tugs the sleeping bag closed and holds it tight against his shivering body. 

One day, he thinks, he'll be warm again. 

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and wills his brain to calm for the night, to give him a restful sleep. 

One day, he thinks, he'll be able to sleep without the horrors of war haunting his dreams. 

Until then, Steve takes a deep breath and forces himself to fall asleep, braced for whatever hell his brain is about to put him through and the cold that never seems to leave. 

## ~*~ Two. ~*~

"Jesus, Steve," Natasha laughs as she steadies him, her hands on his hips. 

Steve blushes, smile wide as he braces himself on the wall. He feels wobbly, his head heavy and too big for his body. "Sorry," he giggles. Everything feels soft and hazy right now, except for the throbbing in his head and the ache in his left arm. There's a clunky cast on it, barely dry, and it's not helping his situation. He doesn't feel like he's in his own body. 

Natasha moves under his right arm, wrapping it around her shoulders and forcing him to lean on her. "Ready?" 

"Yeah." 

They had been on a mission, which was supposed to be an easy surveillance gig, but they were played by their informants. It was just Steve, Natasha, and the STRIKE team, and they were monitoring this shady business in New York that Fury swore had ties to a small cell of super-powered criminals. Fury was right, but it was a lot bigger than anyone had anticipated. And they were ambushed. 

Steve took the brunt of the injuries, earning himself a concussion, a broken arm, and a couple of cracked ribs with too many bruises to count, but they were already disappearing. He'd be good to go next week, after a few days on bed rest for his body to heal. 

In the meantime, that meant having a killer headache and feeling off from his elephant pain medication. 

Natasha curses as she guides him up the stairs. "You just had to pick the day your elevator is out to get hurt, right?" 

"What can I say, I have a flair for the dramatics," Steve says, words slurring together. 

"Is that so?"

Steve hums in agreement. "Yes, ma'am. I was a performer way back when." 

"A performer?" Natasha smirks. "Please tell me there's at least a picture of that?" 

"Probably, but you can't show Tony," Steve whines. "I'll never hear the end of it." 

She pats his stomach as they make it up the flight of stairs and hobble to the next one. "Your secret is safe with me, Cap." 

Steve's eyes struggle to stay open. He tries to keep his breathing shallow, to keep the pain at bay, but it only helps a little. He grunts as he grabs at the wall with the next step. 

"We can go as slow as you need to," Natasha says gently, rubbing his back. "I've got nowhere to be, okay?" 

"Thank you," he grunts out, eyes cast down at his boot-clad feet. 

This isn't his first injury on the job, nor will it be his last, he knows that, but it's the first one he's needed help getting home. If this happened on an Avengers mission, Steve's not sure he would have asked for help. Hell, if the STRIKE team had seen, he probably would have played it cool, but they had their own minor injuries to nurse. Steve hates that Natasha is seeing him in pain, having to help him walk and make sure he gets home safe. It's pathetic. It's weak. It's not what a grown man who happens to be a super-soldier needs. 

She didn't skip a beat though. Natasha helped pick him up off the concrete outside of the club they were watching once the fight was over, the criminals detained, and heading to S.H.I.E.L.D. She lugged him over to the medic and stayed with him as he was poked and prodded. Natasha held his hand while the doctors took x-rays, took notes when they gave him his healing instructions and made sure Steve was comfortable as he could be throughout his small hospital stay. The whole time she kept a small smile on her face and her tone light as if this were a normal occurrence between the coworkers. 

Because the truth is, they're barely friends.

In the year Steve's been awake, he and Natasha had started to build a healthy relationship. Tony called them work-spouses, to which Clint cried for an hour at how Natasha officially divorced him, bumping him from work-husband and best friend to just best friend status. Natasha replied with a flirty, "who says you can't have more than one work husband?" (Steve's not entirely sure what that even means.) They were fairly close for coworkers, though. Like Steve, Natasha was still working for S.H.I.E.L.D, so they saw each other every workday, often spending dawn to dusk working together. Fury said their work ethic and fighting styles complemented one another, which in Fury speak means their partners nine times out of ten on missions. 

They were comfortable with each other, that's for sure. Going on missions together meant they had to be, otherwise it'd be unbearably tense every time they have to share a cab or the occasional hotel room. 

Months of eating lunch together and memorizing the other's coffee order have made them sort of friends, in Steve's opinion. And if his observations are anything, Natasha doesn't make friends easily. 

They make it up the next flight of stairs and turn to walk up the last set. "Tired," Steve mumbles as he braces himself on the wall. 

Natasha rubs his back. "I know you are, but we're almost there. Can you push through it?" 

Steve grunted his agreement. 

"C'mon Rogers, we got this." 

It's not the first time he noticed that Natasha cared, and he hopes it's not the last. There wasn't a specific first moment, but the subtle gestures Natasha made. When they first started to work together as a duo, outside of the Avengers, Steve began to find random cups of coffee on his desk first thing in the morning and after lunch. The first few were black but as time moved on, they grew more complicated and sugary with each cup of coffee. Some were from the cafe in the lobby while others were from local or chain stores nearby, either way, they were random and special. 

Then they graduated on to weekly coffee dates, which led to Natasha introducing Steve to all sorts of cuisine in New York. She'd research restaurants and give Steve three choices each week to pick from, with different meals circled on each menu she thinks Steve would like. It was a stark difference compared to Tony's (no pun intended) method of ridiculing Steve for not knowing a pop culture reference until he wore Steve down into watching it. Natasha just had a level of consideration and understanding in helping him transition into the new century and a more connected world than anyone else on the Avengers. 

Even still, she's never shown this level of blatant care toward him. It makes his chest feel warm, the good warm, not the burning he's feeling with every breath he takes.

Steve grunts as they make it to his floor. "Keys?" 

Natasha pats his back. "I've got them. Just focus on walking." 

"What no grandpa joke?" Steve asks as they shuffle toward his door. 

She rearranges his arm on her shoulder. "Maybe tomorrow, Big Guy. Let's just get you inside." Natasha unlocks the door and then helps Steve inside. 

Somehow, they make their way to his bedroom. Natasha helps him sit on the edge of the bed and kneels down in front of him. "Let's get your boots off."

Steve clutches at his side and nods. "Thank you." 

Natasha smiles up at him as she starts untying his combat boots. "Do you want help getting out of your uniform or can you get it off yourself?" 

His face is hot as he nods. "I-" 

She waves her hand before tugging off his boots one by one. "I can help, Steve," she whispers. 

They spend the next few minutes carefully maneuvering Steve's body out of his uniform, without ripping any of the material or causing Steve any more pain. Once he’s in his underwear and a tank top, Natasha guides Steve onto the bed. 

Natasha tucks Steve in tight and fluffs the pillows behind him. “Normally you shouldn’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time, but the doctor said your concussion is very mild so you should be okay to sleep.” 

Steve groans as he leans back against his pillows. Everything hurts, his head feels fuzzy, and he feels out of place in his body. It’s hard to concentrate on Natasha’s words, but he smiles anyway. “Thank you,” he mumbles. 

She sits beside him and runs her hand through his hair. “I’ll come back to wake you up tomorrow morning. Do you need anything before I go?” 

He hums, eyes fluttering close as her nails scratch against his scalp. “No, I’m okay.” 

“Good.” Natasha starts to whisper a lullaby, singing softly as she keeps rubbing Steve’s head. 

Steve feels his body growing heavier as sleep threatens to take over. It’s been so long since he’s had someone take care of him, had someone show him compassion outside of work. It’s been so long since someone laid with him and made him feel safe. He never wants this moment to end. 

He’s just about to slip under when he feels a gentle brush against his forehead. “Goodnight, Steve,” Natasha whispers. 

## ~*~ Three. ~*~

It's been a little over a year since he thawed out of the ice. Steve's not happy, not in the way he used to be, but he's content with how his life is shaping out to be. He regularly hangs out with Natasha and some variation of the other Avengers, he's picked his art back up and has started going to a weekend class when he can, and he's enjoying his new routine that he's found since moving to Washington DC. The best part is, he's forgone the sleeping bag. Now he can curl up in his weighted duvet (a gift from Natasha) on his new firm mattress (another suggestion from Natasha) and sleep somewhat peacefully. He still has to chase away the chills with blistering showers a couple of times a day and sleeps in layers, but it's easier to deal with now. 

Natasha's feet wiggle under his thigh. They're sitting on his couch, watching a Disney movie (Bambi, because apparently Natasha's never seen it and Steve, for once, has) and eating enormous bowls of popcorn. She's resting her head on the opposite arm of the couch, stretched out so her toes are tucked under his thigh for extra warmth, despite the three fleece blankets between them. 

Steve shakes his head and grabs her foot. "You have got to stop," he laughs. 

"Never," she says with a wink, shaking his hand off her foot and placing them back under his thigh. "My toes are still freezing and you're warm." 

"Fine." 

Steve feels his own toes growing cold from their place on the coffee table, but he can't bother to cover them more than the two pairs of socks currently suffocating his feet. He's too comfortable, too warm for once, to care. They don't get moments like this often, where they can just exist in the same space and enjoy the other's company without the world ending. He doesn't want to risk it by getting another blanket or another pair of socks. 

Natasha tosses a piece of popcorn at his head. "Quit thinking and watch the deer movie." 

"I am!" 

"Steve, there's smoke coming out of your ears. No, you're not."

Steve rolls his eyes as he leans against the other arm of the couch. "You're the one not paying attention." 

She huffs. "I'm so paying attention. No one has ever paid attention more than me. I'm the queen of observation skills, Steve." 

"Nat, I can feel you staring at me. That's not watching the movie."

"I'm a highly trained, efficient, world-class spy, Steven. I don't need to watch the screen to pay attention to the movie. Plus, it's a pretty simple concept: baby deer slowly realizes the horrors of man." Natasha pops a couple of pieces of popcorn into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. "It's not like I need all of my superior brainpower to follow along to a children's movie." 

Steve laughs and tosses back a piece of popcorn. "If only the world knew this is how Natasha Romanoff spends her Friday nights, the upper hand I'd have in the battlefield." 

"Oh please, this is a once in a blue moon situation for me. But for you? This is your typical Friday night protocol. What's your excuse?" 

"I have a lot of pop culture to catch up on, thank you very much." 

"And a lot of life you're wasting watching old movies with your coworker." 

"I'd say you're more than a coworker at this point." 

Natasha pauses, eyebrow arched. "Am I now?" 

Steve shrugs. "You signed the work marriage license the same day I did, didn't you?" 

She laughs, eyes closed and nose scrunched up in joy as she nods. "Okay, fair enough." 

A silence embraces them, a gentle weight over their quiet laughter and broadening grins. Steve's cheeks ache so much from smiling he can barely feel the cold settling in his gut. 

Natasha turns her attention toward the movie, slowly sitting up as the climax nears. Steve can hear her breathing pick up as the hunters come on screen. He reaches over and takes her hand, still resting on the lip of the popcorn bowl. They don't say anything, nor do they look at each other, as Natasha squeezes his hand when Bambi says goodbye to his mother. 

The credits roll before either of them say anything. Steve reaches for a tissue to dab at his eyes as subtly as possible, but as Natasha stated previously, she's the queen of observation. Natasha squeezes his hand again and takes a deep breath. "That was good. Better than I expected, for sure." 

"I'm glad you liked it." 

"I didn't say I liked it." 

"But you said it was good? If it's a good movie, that means you liked it?" Steve takes his hand back and crosses his arms, smiling returning to his shiny cheeks. 

Natasha makes a disapproving noise, but her eyes are sparkling in a way that makes Steve's heart pick up it's pace. "Oh no. That's not how it works. Maybe it is if you think of yourself as some film buff like Tony and Clint claim to be, but that's not how I roll." 

"Please continue," Steve says. 

She folds her arms around her knees, her toes still tucked under his thigh, and rests her chin on her forearm. "It's quite simple. Bambi itself is a good movie, hits all the markings for a film that'd earn a bunch of awards, and has a good story with cute characters. It was good. I can see why other people would enjoy watching it, but that doesn't mean I'd watch it again. It's sad and it made me feel something, which I absolutely hate as you probably know. So while it was a good movie, I never want to see it ever again." 

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Okay, understood and noted." 

Natasha nods. "Good." She throws the blankets onto him and stands up, stretching her body out as she walks to his kitchen. "Are you up for another movie or are we calling it a night?" 

He checks his watch. It's late, but not too late for another movie. But he has a special training session with some new S.H.I.E.L.D agents tomorrow to see if they're good fits for the STRIKE team, so he probably shouldn't stay up too much longer. Steve sighs. He really hates that he has to call it a night, but if he doesn't crawl into bed now, he'll never sleep. While he may not need a full eight hours every night, anything less than five (or four, at this point, if he goes to bed as soon as Natasha leaves) has him snapping at people first thing in the morning. And no one needs a crabby Captain America in charge of their morning workout routine. 

"I think I have to call it," Steve says as he stands up. He cracks his back and groans, enjoying the buzz radiating through his body from the night. It's not often he can be in just a sweatshirt and sweats and still feel as warm as he does right now. 

Natasha pouts. "Ugh, fine. I guess I get it." 

Steve scratches at his neck. "We can definitely do this again next week, if you're still in town." 

"I'm heading out first thing Monday to China for a mission," she says. Steve knows she's not actually going to China, and knowing her, she probably isn't even leaving on Monday, but Natasha can never be too careful with revealing her schedule. One day, Steve will figure out her complicated pattern, but for now, he's just accepting whatever she tells him. 

He opens his arms and gives her a quick, tight hug. "This was fun. I'm glad you could make it." 

She laughs, squeezing him around the middle. "You know I always make time to give back to the elderly, Steve. You just have to call." 

"Ha. Ha." He pulls away, scowling. 

Natasha winks at him as she slips her shoes on and grabs her coat. "I will see you soon." 

Steve nods. "Counting on it." He walks her to the door and down to the elevator. Steve fights the urge to walk her to her car, but he stops himself. "Text me when you're back in town," he says as she walks into the elevator. 

She salutes him as the doors closed, grinning. 

And then Steve's alone. 

As he walks back to his apartment and locks up for the night, he can feel the warmth ebbing away to the chill of his loneliness. He knows she can't stay forever and that they live their own lives, but he can't help it. Steve just wishes it could last a little while longer, hold onto that moment until the cold never comes back. 

Instead, he takes a scalding shower and climbs into his bed. He tries not to think about how much he misses having Natasha around. He tries to not think about the way her green eyes seem to glimmer when she's around only him and able to be herself without having to keep up the Black Widow facade for the other agents. He tries to not think about Natasha at all. 

He's asleep for about two hours, restless and semi-conscious before he hears a gentle click of a lock unlocking and the twist of his front door opening. Steve sits up and reaches for his gun, tucked beneath his pillows. He braces himself, turning the safety off the gun, and slides to the edge of the bed to climb out. 

Soft footsteps grow closer, gentle padding of bare feet. Steve flicks the safety back on as he waits for the door to creak open. 

It does and Natasha pokes her head inside. "Steve?" 

His shoulders fall. "Natasha? Is everything okay?" 

She slips into the room and shuts the door. "I locked up behind me," she says, almost a whisper. 

Steve's brow furrows. "Thanks," he says. She's wearing pajamas, a worn flannel set with holes in the arms and a rip on her outer thigh, and her red hair is pulled back in a messy bun. "Are you alright?" 

Natasha crosses her arms over herself. "I-" she shakes her head. She looks to his bed, then turns toward the door. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" Natasha goes to open the door again. 

He sets the gun down on his bedside table gently, before scrambling out of bed. "Hey, wait." 

She pauses, shoulders visibly tense and head tucked down. 

"You can stay," he whispers, "if you need to." 

Natasha turns back, eyes hopeful as she bites her lip. "Are you sure? I don't-"

He rests his hands on her shoulders. "More than anything. You can sleep in here and I'll take the couch-"

"No." She shakes her head. "If I stay, I can't sleep alone. It's-- I--" 

Steve nods. "Okay, I get it. C'mon, let's get you to bed." He guides her to the other side of the bed and waits for her to climb in before walking to his side. They settle in, getting the sheets and duvet settled over themselves. Steve stares at the ceiling, quietly enjoying the heat radiating off her. "Nightmares?" he asks, barely making a sound in the darkroom. 

"Yes," she answers, a breathless response that has her tensing up. "I get-"

"You don't have to explain. I get it." Steve turns his head to look at her. He can tell she's struggling, uncomfortable with showing this side of herself but she isn't shying away from it either. She's all soft edges and smooth skin, as opposed to her usual Black Widow scowl of intimidation she dons at work. He usually has such a hard time pinning down what she's feeling, but for once, he gets her. 

Natasha turns her head, brows furrowed and her eyes wet with unshed tears. "Thank you." 

"Always." 

They let the silence overcome them, just staring into each other's eyes. Encompassed by the dark, it's harder to make the little details out, but Steve can see her so clearly all the same. 

He's not sure who drifts closer first. It's like there's a magnet between them, drawing the other in painstakingly slow. He feels her shuffle towards him, her legs slipping between his and her breath on his chin. Steve ducks his head, level with hers and closes the distance. 

Her lips are soft and gentle, like everything else about her right now. Steve knows this probably looks like a bad idea on paper, that she's in a vulnerable place and looking for help. She needs a safe place, not Steve making moves on her. Yet, there's something in him that just clicks as their lips move against one another, her hand traveling up his arm and his caressing her cheek. 

It's as they kiss that Steve realizes this isn't just a one-time thing. He can feel it, something changing between them as they try to get closer. Steve's not sure how he knows, or maybe it's just the fact that they're both cautious people and this is a big step, but he knows this isn't the last of their story. 

Steve can't remember falling asleep, but it's the best he's slept in a while. He wakes up with his arms around Natasha, her back to his chest, and their legs entwined under the duvet. It's early, too early for a sane person to be awake, but Steve has training and a run to go on before he heads to the Triskelion. He doesn't want to leave and without thinking, Steve reaches for his phone and reschedules the training. He sets an alarm for eight, sets it back on charge, and tucks himself back in, pulling Natasha close. 

If he has any say in this, he'll wake up like this every morning if he could. 

## ~*~ Four. ~*~

"Next time, I want to use the shield," Natasha says as she presses the button on the elevator. 

Steve chuckles, rubbing at his neck. "You got it," he mumbles. 

It'd been a long fight, one that required all six Avengers, which doesn't happen very often. Steve and Natasha landed in New York late last night but after a full day of debriefings and meetings about the next step, they'd only been allowed to return to DC an hour ago. And only just able to head to Steve's apartment for a much needed week off. 

She leans against him, her head on his shoulder, as she yawns. 

He wraps an arm around her. It's times like this, when they're just existing in the same space for a brief moment, that Steve's grateful he has her. Two years ago, he would have gone home by himself and spent the elevator ride trying to ignore how cold he felt. Now, the cold is nipping at his nose and toes, but the heat from her body pressed against his distracts him. 

"Did you order food?" she asks, eyes closed. 

Steve sucks in air through his teeth as the elevator stops on his floor. "I knew I forgot to do something when we landed." 

The doors open up and Natasha pushes herself off Steve's body. Steve grabs their duffles and adjusts the shield on his back before stepping out of the elevator. 

Natasha sighs. "It's okay. We'll just order a pizza or something when we get inside." 

Steve smiles at her as he pulls out his keys. As he goes to unlock the door, it swings open and Steve's smile grows. "Sam," he says. 

Sam grins and opens the door wider. "You two look..." 

"Gorgeous? Straight off the runway? Vogue ready?" Natasha asks, an eyebrow raised with a smirk dancing on her face. 

Steve watches her push past Sam, sees them exchange a glance, and he can't help but smile at them both. 

"I was going to say like shit, but those sound better," Sam says as he walks toward the kitchen. 

Natasha takes a deep breath and hums, eyes fluttering shut as she nearly floats after him. "Something smells delicious." 

"I made a lasagne. The extra cheese I just added is still melting, but the bread needs about ten more minutes to finish before you can dig in," Sam says as he opens the oven to peek inside. 

Steve shuts the door. "You made dinner?" 

Sam's brow furrows. "Yeah, is that okay?" 

"I'd never say no to a Wilson Classic," Steve says. He looks down at his still bloody, torn uniform; the red, white, and blue turned grey and black with dirt and dried blood. "But I need to--"

"Shower, both of you. Seriously, go get cleaned and relax. I'll make sure it's warm when you get back." Sam grins at them both and Steve's heart skips a beat. He doesn't know what he did to deserve a friend like Sam, but he's so beyond thrilled to have him. 

Natasha leans against the wall and looks at Steve, arms crossed as if she had all the time in the world and they hadn't just spent the last seventy-two hours awake with their coworkers. "Whatcha say, Rogers? Shower, food, then a movie?" 

Steve nods. "Sounds perfect. We'll be back, Sam." 

"Take your time, but for the love of God, don't let me hear it." Sam tosses his dishrag at Steve, winking. 

"Oh please," Natasha says, her smirk dissolving into a sultry smile, "you'd love the show." 

Sam leans against the oven, mirroring her pose, as he tilts his head back. "Maybe I would, but I just spent three hours making this meal for you. Can't go getting distracted before I make sure you eat it, now can we?" 

Natasha pushes herself off the wall and laughs, a breathy giggle that fills Steve with a warmth he's never felt before; fleeting with the promise of forever. She pats Steve's chest as she passes him, walking down the hall toward his (their) bedroom. "Let's go, Rogers. My zipper broke yesterday and I'm going to need some help getting out of it," she says. 

Steve follows her, ears burning as he closes the door behind them. "How do you always manage to break the zipper?" he asks, stepping behind her to rests his hands on her shoulders. 

"What can I say? I'm tough on my clothes." Natasha lifts her hair, tugging it into a messy ponytail as she looks up and over her shoulder at Steve. "What are you waiting for, old man? I know you may like how it looks, but leather isn't the most comfortable material to be stuck in." 

"I know it isn't," Steve says as he moves to fix the zipper. 

Natasha scoffs. "You've been stuck in leather before? When have you ever even worn leather?" 

Steve smiles and drops a kiss to her neck as he unzips the back of her Black Widow suit. "I haven't, but I remember the Friends episode pretty well." 

"I'm dating a dork." Natasha pulls away, peeling the suit off her body as she walks. "Don't worry, I'll have it blistering hot by the time you deal with all those straps and layers you have going on." 

"You know me so well," Steve calls. 

And she was right. By the time Steve was undressed and slipping into the shower behind her, the water nearly scorched his skin and the steam just as hot, clearing his airways and his mind with a single deep breath. Any other time, they would spend the time reacquainting themselves with the other's body, with gentle touches and soapy fingers. Now, they're hardly able to stand, muscles growing soft under the scalding torment of the water as it washes away the blood and grime from their bodies. They pass their respective soaps and shampoos to one another, occasionally exchanging a lazy kiss here or there just because they can until they've scrubbed a layer of skin from their bodies. 

Natasha steps out first and hands Steve the biggest, fluffiest towel they have. He thanks her as he dries off, glancing between the fogged mirror and Natasha. They've spent a lot of time together over the years, but more so since they began their relationship after that kiss. Until they met Sam a year ago, she was the only person he'd really enjoy hanging out with on a regular basis. Sure, he adored Thor's company, when he got it, and he could tolerate Tony if it was small doses; Clint was okay, but they didn't click enough to spend a lot of time together and Bruce was quiet, introverted in a way that encouraged Steve to revert in on himself as well, so they didn't see each other often outside of Avengers get-togethers. 

In that time, before and during their relationship, Steve had picked up a lot of things about Natasha. He knew that when she was fighting sleep, she was constantly tensing her shoulders and standing up straighter, as if her mind was reprimanding her body for even thinking about sleep, and that when she really couldn't sleep, she'd have to have her arm over her head and hold onto the headboard, even if she was partially curled against him, her arm would remain in its place. He knew that the look in her eye meant she was barely holding on, that the mission was more taxing than she'd care to admit, from the way her eyes go glossy every few minutes and she can't stop checking the time. Then again, she's always checking the time, checking everything for that matter. Since she started staying here more, she installed a series of secret, spy-level security software that she keeps on her phone. No matter what they're doing, she'll check it once an hour, constantly keeping an eye on the place and needing to know the time, to the point she'll wake up every two hours on instinct to make sure everything is going as planned and the house is safe. Steve doesn't mind at all; how could he? If anything, it makes his chest feel warm as he watches her go a little longer without checking the time, even with the two clocks he's installed in every room, or how she'll send him a little text that would concern him if it was anyone other than Natasha ("you left a candle burning in the bedroom"; "is that really all you're eating for lunch? nevermind, I'm sending you something"; "Steve, you can't wear the purple socks to a meeting with senators. Try the suit in the back of your closet, the red tie on your dresser, and go with the socks in your left hand. love you"). 

Steve steps out of the shower and into the fleece-lined pajama pants Natasha bought him. He tugs on a long sleeve shirt and runs the towel through his hair one more time. "We can skip the movie, you know?" 

Natasha sighs as she tugs the drawstrings of the sweatpants she borrowed (stole) from Steve. "He cooked us dinner, Steve. We can't just eat and go to sleep, not when he's a guest." 

"Nat, he surprised us after a two-week mission with a home cooked meal. He saw how tired we were, he would understand if we didn't feel up to hanging out with him after dinner. I don't think he exactly expected us to, quite frankly." Steve takes her hand and pulls her close. 

Natasha hesitates. He never expected to see Natasha Romanov standing in a tank top and his sweats, hair wrapped in a towel turban, and proudly sporting two faint bags under her eyes, but he can't imagine ever giving this up. "I want to try and make it up to him," she whispers. 

"Okay," Steve whispers and kisses her forehead. "We'll try to watch a movie with Sam."

"He's our friend, Steve," she tries.

Steve shakes his head. "Which means he would understand. Besides, it's Sam - our Sam. He's not an ordinary friend."

Natasha nods. "That's true." 

"I mean, if he is and that's how you talk with all of your friends, we may need to have a conversation." Steve laughs as he starts to guide her out of the bathroom. 

"Only Sam gets that treatment," Natasha says. "Because he's Sam." 

They make their way back to the main room, where Sam has set the table and poured a glass of wine for each of them. "That was quick." 

"Yeah, we're not exactly in a take-a-long shower sort of mood," Steve says as he takes his seat. 

Sam takes his seat and serves them all a healthy helping of lasagne, homemade garlic bread, and a nice salad to go with it. "You don't have to explain anything to me," he says. 

Natasha sips her wine as she sits down. "It looks delicious," she says. 

They eat in comfortable silence, mumbling compliments to Sam as Steve shovels food in his mouth and Natasha picks at her plate. Sam exchanges a concerned look with Steve, mouthing "Is she okay?" 

Steve nods. "Tired," he mouths back. 

Sam smiles and reaches out to touch the back of Natasha's hand. "You won't hurt my feelings if you tap out." 

"I'm fine," Natasha says as she takes a bite of her salad. "Arm's just sore."

"Oh, right." Steve sets his fork down and leans forward a bit. "You should have seen her, Sam. We were surveying this empty building out in an abandoned village in Ukraine, right? And Natasha, being the badass she is, practically twirls from rooftop to rooftop like it's nothing..." He goes on, filling Sam in about how Natasha pulled a muscle trying not to fall of a particularly rotten roof and how Clint wouldn't let her live it down. Steve's laughter dies down as he swirls his wine in his glass. "It was awful when she fell--"

Natasha groaned. "I was fine. You overreacted." 

"You fell off a two-story building without any padding or harnesses. I was worried." 

"I landed on my feet." 

"Not my point." Steve shakes his head. "Anyway, she was so embarrassed about it that she took revenge on Clint on the way home." 

Sam's eyes grow wide. "What'd you do?" 

Natasha smirks, cheeks tinting red. "I just... slipped a little red food coloring into his shampoo. He's the one who was too impatient and claimed he desperately needed a shower on the plane. He should have waited like everyone else to at least get to the Tower--"

"Or wait until they get home, like you two?" Sam presses his lips together. 

Steve shrugs and bites his lip. "Home has its perks." 

Sam scoffs. "Is that so?" 

"Yeah, where else are we going to find such gourmet cooking at this hour?" 

Natasha rolls her eyes and picks up her empty plate. "It was delicious, Sam," she says as she leans over to kiss his cheek. "Thank you." 

"Anytime," Sam says. 

They clean up the kitchen and table before they migrate with their glasses of wine to the living room. Steve sits in the middle, arms draped over the back of the couch. Sam sits on his left, their knees bumping into one another, and Natasha curls up on his right, leaning against his side. They turn the TV on to a Hallmark romance, something light and predictable where the only problem is what dress the main character will wear and when she'll tell her best friend's boyfriend she's in love with him. Anything else is too risky for their state of mind right now. 

Steve's arms slowly migrate to wrapping around both of their shoulders as his head grows heavier and heavier with sleep. It's at the big confession that he realizes his eyes had closed and he'd missed the last five minutes, head slumped over onto Sam's shoulder. 

"You alright, big guy?" Sam whispers. He pats Steve's thigh, leaving his hand resting on his knee. 

"Yeah," Steve says, voice thick and deep. He clears his throat. "Didn't realize how much I needed this." 

Sam hums softly and shifts, pulling Steve's arm from around his shoulder. He lets Steve lean against him again, this time wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulders, so he can run his fingers through Steve's hair. "You can sleep, you know?" 

Steve nods, giving in to the sensations and sleep. It doesn't take too much convincing, but he forces himself to stay on the right side of consciousness, where he tricks his body into thinking it's fast asleep while he's very much present and aware of his surroundings. He feels Natasha shift beside him, tucking herself in a tight little ball against his side and the back of the couch. It's situations like this that Steve lets his guilt eat at him. 

Falling in love with Natasha was a unique experience. They had started as friends, as all of his loves do, but he didn't really get to know who she was until the one mission he was hurt and she helped him home. It was after that night that he started noticing her in a different light, but he kept forcing himself to distance those thoughts from Natasha, to keep it away because he couldn't lose his only friend just because he finds her attractive and thinks her personality is wonderful. Then they kissed, everything falling to place that night, and Steve was finally able to consider his feelings. And he fell in love with her a little more every day. It was a gradual love, as if the more time they spent side-by-side, the more he realized how much he needed her and cared for her. 

With Bucky, it wasn't something he really thought about. He just knew that they were best friends and inseparable growing up, until one day he was overwhelmed with just how much he loved him. They had been walking down the street to pick up his ma's groceries while she was at work, and as Bucky opened the door for a pair of older ladies, Steve was nearly knocked over with the force of his realization. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Bucky right there and then, but he couldn't. He couldn't even tell Bucky how much he loved him, the way he loved him, in case Bucky rejected him and sent him packing for his feelings. Bucky had fallen off that train without knowing how much damage would be done to Steve's heart at the idea of Bucky dying, let alone actually thinking he did. Steve had always known he loved Bucky, knew he'd never truly fall out of love with him. Even now, as committed as he is to Natasha, he told her upfront that he would probably always love Bucky, Winter Soldier or not. She had understood, even offered to help look for him when she had the time, joining Steve and Sam on missions to search for his lost friend. 

But with Sam, it happened all at once. He knew when they first met that Sam was something special and he kept proving that with every twist and turn their mission took when S.H.I.E.L.D collapsed and the Winter Soldier resurfaced. Sam never skipped a beat. He had Steve's back instantly and he understood him in a way no one has tried before, not even Natasha. It was after that whirlwind week, when they were preparing to leave for Europe to find Bucky, that Steve looked up and everything changed. They were packing a quinjet, Steve suited up and Sam in his brand-new Falcon suit, and Sam was talking about all this new playlist he made for Steve that he planned on playing on their trip. And Steve froze. All at once, his breathing stopped and his heart swelled because he was falling for the man before him. It was overwhelming, it was wonderful, and it made Steve feel warm all over for a second. Until he snapped out of it and closed the cargo unit. "Sounds great, Sam," he had said, patting Sam on the back. Sam had grinned back, more excited to just hang out on the quinjet while they flew over the Atlantic than the actual mission they had before them. 

Natasha knows. She figured it out when she joined them on a mission two months later. They hadn't really had a chance to spend time together with everything going on, and the few days they did have were spent on Steve's couch, just the two of them. This was the first time she was seeing Steve and Sam together since everything went down, and she kept a close eye on Steve. After they had grabbed dinner, Sam split up to go see an old war buddy, and Natasha and Steve walked hand-in-hand around London. Natasha had a funny smile on her face, one Steve couldn't decipher, and kept swinging their hands between them like she was a schoolgirl. It wasn't until they were on a quiet street that she finally said, "you like him, don't you?" He hadn't known what to say, took too long to answer. Natasha just smiled wider and shook her head. "You amaze me, Steve Rogers," she whispered as she leaned up to kiss him. 

Steve had pulled back, confused. "Why do you say that?" 

Natasha bit her lip and rested her hands on his chest. "I have never seen a man love the way you do, Steve. You love with every ounce of your being and you give into it easily. I mean, look at what you did for Bucky, someone you've told me you'll probably always love--"

"But that's different. Bucky's my best friend--"

"--Who you're in love with still."

"--and he needs help," Steve said. "I can't just sit back and lose him again." 

Natasha shakes her head, eyes filled with a warmth he can't seem to capture. "Your heart is just so big you spill love everywhere, you know that?" 

They didn't talk about it anymore that night, but Natasha would make comments here and there -- all in jest and good nature, her own flirty smile in play -- and Steve would blush and wave them off. And that's just how things have been, Steve harboring a secret love for his new best friend and his own girlfriend teasing him about it while Sam knows nothing.

Sam yawns as the movie finishes. 

Steve sits up, rubbing at his eyes, face warm as he realizes he may have been drooling. "Sorry," he mumbles. 

"No need," Sam says, voice so gentle it makes Steve want to curl back in his arms. "You're exhausted. Let's get you both to bed." He unwraps his arm from Steve and stands. Together they maneuver a sleepy Natasha off the couch. 

Natasha whines, almost too quiet for Sam to hear, and wraps her arms around his neck. She mumbles something in Russian that neither of them catch, or understand. 

"You got her?" Steve asks as Sam picks Natasha up, bridal style. 

"Yeah, go ahead." 

Steve leads the way to the bedroom, where Sam gently tucks Natasha into bed. "Thanks for tonight," he says. 

Sam looks up and smiles. "You deserved it after the hell you were just in." 

"You're a good friend." 

Steve sits on the edge of the bed and yawns. 

Sam shakes his head and walks toward the door. "Go to sleep, I'll catch you later tomorrow. We can do an evening run instead of a morning one so you can catch up on sleep." 

"Sam," Steve says, glancing at the clock, "it's way too late. Just stay here for the night." 

"Steve..." 

"Look, you live across town. It's late and a Friday night. It'd be safer for you to just stay here for the night. Please." Steve stands up and walks over to Sam. "I'd sleep better knowing you're safe and sound here. And I wouldn't be able to sleep until you text me you were home safe. You know that." 

Sam sighs. "Alright. I'll sleep on the couch, but I'm leaving in the morning--"

"No," Natasha says, sitting up. She pushes her hair out of her face and scoots toward the edge. "We have room. Just sleep in here." 

They freeze. "Natasha," Steve starts. 

She climbs out of bed and walks toward them. "I'm exhausted," she admits, "and I really don't want to have this long, nerve wracking conversation about stepping on each other's toes with this. I know how you both feel, I see how you both interact with me and each other compared to strangers or other friends. I see it. So can we please just climb into bed and sleep for now and worry about what this means tomorrow?" She takes one of Sam's hands in her left and Steve's in her right. "Please?" 

Steve turns to Sam, his face pale and the icy chill creeping up his spine. "You can say no, Sam. We won't be upset if this isn't what you want." 

Sam looks between the two, brows furrowed and face steeled. He's being cautious, but Steve can tell he's nervous by the way he's biting at his inner lip. He catches Steve's eye. "Is this something you want, too?"

"More than anything," Steve whispers, more air than sound. 

"Then okay," Sam says. "I'll go change."

Natasha drags Steve back to bed while Sam changes into a pair of Steve's basketball shorts, no shirt, in the bathroom. The second they climb into bed, Natasha curls into Steve's side, head on his shoulder and a leg draped over one of his. She checks her phone and the security cameras one more time, before she settles in.

Steve tries to focus on the warmth she's giving him, distracting him from the chill of his right side, where Sam will sleep. 

Sam turns off the lights and settles into Steve's side of the bed. 

At first they keep space between them, nearly rigid with how cautious they are to touch. They've shared beds before, on missions when it was necessary and all they had, but this isn't the same. This is intentional. This means something. 

Sam huffs a laugh, quiet and soft. "This has got to be the firmest mattress I've ever felt." 

"Yet it's still the softest," Steve adds. 

"I haven't been able to find one like this, that has that balance." 

"They're rare, that's for sure." 

Sam rolls onto his side, facing Steve. "You remember where you got it from?"

Steve turns his head to face Sam, their noses two inches away. "I have it written down somewhere." He can't help but notice how close Sam's lips are, how easy it'd be to pull him close and kiss him stupid. 

"You'll have to let me know," Sam whispers. 

Natasha groans. "Just kiss already," she mumbles. 

Steve glances at Natasha, then back at Sam. Without thinking, he does just that, reaching up to caress Sam's stubbly cheek and bring his lips closer. He feels Sam's hand latch onto his forearm, holding him there, as he kisses back with unspoken passion. It's more heated than either of them intended, but still gentle and loving.

And as they kiss, something in Steve just clicks and he can't quite get enough of Sam. And he doesn't want to. 

"I've wanted to do that for so long," Sam whispers as they pull away, panting. "But you're with Natasha and I didn't think--"

"I'm poly," Natasha says, eyes closed as she reaches to take Sam's hand. "And I think Steve may be, too. I just haven't taught him that word, yet." She pulls his hand close and kisses his knuckles. "We can talk later. Sleep now." 

Steve turns his head to kiss her forehead. "Yes, ma'am." 

Sam rests his head on Steve's shoulder, his leg draped over Steve's right and bumping against Natasha's. 

Steve takes a deep breath as he lets sleep take over, shoving away the cold from the outside in. 

## ~*~ Five. ~*~

Steve feels it happening before he hears it. It starts with Bucky twitching, his foot nudging Steve's, and his shoulder jerking against his. Then he hears the soft sounds of Bucky's quiet desperation, mumbling in languages at a rapid speed that Steve can barely detect which language he's speaking before he switches to the next. Steve sits up as Bucky grows louder, voice urgent and tears spilling from his eyes, screwed shut to keep away the demons from the outside in. 

"Buck," Steve says, shifting so he isn't touching Bucky but he's still close enough. "Buck, it's just Steve. You're okay," he says. 

Bucky cries out, arms flailing in a pseudo-controlled motion, as if he's engaging in combat in his dreams and his body is reacting to muscle memory. He's screaming in what sounds like a slavic language, kicking at Steve and the covers, tangling himself up worse. 

Steve's quick to get off the bed at that point. He pulls the comforter down and tries to untangle Bucky without touching him. He remembers the first night Bucky stayed with them, when they'd tried to restrain him with comforting touches and soft voices to pull him out of the hell he'd been reliving. It'd only made things so much worse, with Bucky slipping into Winter Soldier mode and nearly choking Steve to death. The bruise around his neck took two weeks to heal, the longest he's ever had. They learned pretty quickly that it was easier to coax Bucky out without touching him, unlike their own nightmares where touch is key. 

The door to Bucky's room opens and in walks Sam, in nothing but his boxers. "He okay?" 

Steve runs a hand through his hair. "No. We haven't gotten to the stage where he just screams, though, so I think we're doing okay," Steve says as he bundles up the comforter and sheets and tosses them onto the little desk behind him. 

Sam crouches down beside the bed, a safe distance away from flailing limbs. "Bucky, it's Sam. You're safe, you're in your own bedroom, and Steve and I are here for you. Can you come back to us, Bucky? Can you wake up and come back to us?"

Steve feels himself calm as Sam keeps talking to Bucky in his Therapist Voice. He leans against the desk, fist against his lips, and watches as Bucky cries in pain. 

The door opens again and Natasha slips inside, wearing one of Steve's shirts. She frowns and walks to Steve, side-stepping Sam. "I hate seeing him like this," she says. 

"Me too," Steve mumbles into his hand. 

Natasha presses her lips together. Unlike Steve, she knows what he's saying. She can hear every pained cry for help, every plead to stop, as plain as day, while Steve and Sam only hear the pain behind the words. "Is there anything we can do, Sam?" 

Sam looks up, face aged and filled with concern. "Try saying what I'm saying, but in Russian or anything the Winter Soldier would speak? Maybe that would reach him faster." 

"I can do that." She sits on the other side of the bed, dodging Bucky's foot on the way. Together, they repeat the same phrase for Bucky in English and Russian, while Steve watches. 

It eats at him that he can't help during this part. It's been two years since Bucky was able to return to the states and live with them, almost one since Shuri was able to help with the Winter Soldier coding in his brain, but Steve can never get used to seeing this. They all have PTSD and trauma that comes out at night, he's seen Sam and Nat have their own night terrors and they've seen his, but none of theirs compare to Bucky's. They happen almost every night, unless Bucky's so bone-deep tired that even his brain can't relive his Winter Soldier experience. It's safer now that he can't revert back to that wiring in his sleep, but he's still a trained assassin with reflexes unparalleled by anyone in this house. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt them all, that Bucky can't feel safe enough to sleep on his own and he's so ashamed to have to ask one of them to sleep with him. 

When he first moved in, Bucky had appreciated his space. He didn't like having anyone touch him without permission, didn't like sitting beside people for very long, and he was careful around everyone. With Steve, he was able to relax quicker than anyone, and for a long time would only let Steve touch him, especially in moments of crisis. Bucky would stay up for days until his body was too tired to go on, to the point he'd have to sleep for an entire day to take care of himself, all to avoid the night terrors. He stopped once Steve caught him falling asleep during training and confessed. So they tried to let him sleep alone, with the promise that he'd wake one of them if he needed them. At first, they were being woken up by his screams, rushing in to help calm him down and ease Bucky into reality. Then one mission, they had to share beds. 

Bucky panicked. "No, I can't," he had mumbled, hyperventilating as he crouches in a corner. "It's-- I can't." 

"Bucky, it'll be okay," Steve said as he sat in front of him, hands outstretched for Bucky to take when he was ready. "If I sleep next to you, even if you do have a nightmare, you're not going to hurt me. Hell, I'll sleep on the floor if I need to--"

"No," Bucky said, tucking his head into his arms. "You promise it'll be okay?"

Steve nodded. "I promise, pal. It'll be just like we used to when we lived in that apartment in Dumbo, remember? And you had to sleep with me to make sure I didn't freeze in the middle of the night?" 

Bucky laughs a little. "You were always so cold." 

"I still am," Steve admits. "Keep me warm, Buck? For old time's sake?" 

He sees Sam and Natasha exchange a look between them from where they're watching near the door. He tries to ignore the heat on his neck and ears, how his stomach flips just thinking about what that could possibly mean. 

Bucky agreed, and for the first time ever, he slept the night through. After that, they decided they'd start taking shifts sleeping in Bucky's room. They started with Steve and slowly transitioned into Sam, then Natasha. Now they alternate, two sharing their bed and one sleeping with Bucky.

No matter how many times Steve wakes up to Bucky having a night terror, he still can't help him. Sam and Natasha always step in, with their soothing voices and gentle coaxing. Steve's too brash, too loud for this sort of thing. It scares him too much. 

Bucky wakes up with a start, sitting up straight with a scream ripping through his throat like a caged animal in anguish. And this is where Steve comes in. 

He jumps onto the bed, kneeling in front of Bucky, and pulls him in close. "Hey, hey, we got you," he whispers as Bucky cries into Steve's neck. 

Sam stands up and pats Steve's shoulder as he sits beside them. He rubs Bucky's back, humming a song Steve doesn't know the words to. 

"Steve-" Bucky starts, clutching at Steve's shirt. There's a faint rip as Bucky clings to the material, trying to get as close to Steve as possible. 

"Shh," Natasha whispers, "we have you myshonak."

They sit there for a while until Bucky's ragged breathing slows to the occasional tremor and all three of them are holding him tightly. 

Steve pulls away to push Bucky's hair back. "I know we've talked about this, but why don't you come sleep in our bed?" 

Bucky's lip tremors. "I--" He looks between Sam and Natasha. "I can't." 

"Yes, you can myshonak. We don't mind at all," she whispers. 

"No, I..." Bucky shakes his head and wiggles out of their hold. He climbs off the bed and starts toward the door, then turns on his heel. "I just can't." Bucky paces back and forth, hands held behind his head. 

Sam stands up first, hands outstretched. "Bucky, man, why don't we talk this out? Can we try that?" 

"It's just-" Bucky turns away and leans against the wall. "I think I need to move." 

"What?" Steve gasps, blood draining from his face. Natasha takes his hand. "Why would you say that, Buck? You know you're more than welcome here. We love you." 

Bucky shakes his head and scrubs at his face. "Don't say that." 

"Don't say what? That we love you? Buck, c'mon, you know we do. If we really thought you were a burden, we wouldn't be here right now." 

"No, it's just--"

"Just what?" Steve asks, rising to his feet. "Are you going to say you aren't worth it?"

"Steve," Sam warns, hand on Steve's chest. 

Bucky twists around and gets in Steve's face, eyes wild and face red. "Goddammit, Steve, I love you." 

"Buck, I know--"

"No, you don't, Steve. If you would just shut up and listen, you'd realize that I don't just love you. I'm in love with you, Steve. I've loved you since we were fucking twelve, but you never fucking noticed." Bucky pokes him in the chest. "So no, Steve, I don't really want to sleep in a bed with you and your partners, no matter how much you say you guys care about me. I can't just sit here and--"

Steve grabs his face and kisses him as a man possessed. He crowds him, kissing him so fiercely he swears he can taste blood. 

Bucky does the same, grabbing at Steve as if their lips were fists. It's all teeth and pulling from either side, panting into each other's mouths until Bucky's back hits the wall, the drywall cracking under the force. 

Steve pulls away, gasping for air as he rests his forehead against Bucky's. "You really think I'd become a fugitive for just anyone? That I'd risk what few friends I had and have the entire world think of me as a criminal for anyone?" He kisses Bucky again, softer and slower. "Buck, pal, you've always been it." 

"But you have--"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Bucky," Sam says, smiling. "Natasha and I have always known Steve loved you. There's always been a part of Steve that's been in love with you, probably always will. It's not a competition, not when it comes to Steve." 

Bucky deflates against the wall. "But..." 

Natasha holds her knees to her chest. "Myshonak, Sam and I knew from the minute Steve brought you back that you'd either join our relationship one day or you two would never figure it out yourselves. That's just how it's meant to be." 

Steve's brow furrows. "So you knew that Bucky had feelings for me?" 

"Steve, unlike you, we're not blind." Sam's fist bumps Natasha, smiling. "We also knew Bucky had to figure it out first, you pining dope," Sam says as he walks forward to hug Steve's waist. 

Bucky runs a hand through his hair. "I just..." 

"This has been a chaotic hour. Why don't we go back to our bed or you two can go back to sleep here, if you want a night to yourselves, and just sleep?"

Bucky pushes away from Steve to face them all. "Hang on, you two want me to..."

"Join our relationship?" Natasha asks. "Yes. If that's something you want." 

"Steve was right, Bucky, we love you. We've loved you the second we realized who you really were," Sam says. 

Steve squeezes Sam's hand. "Thank you," he whispers in Sam's ear, pressing a kiss just below it. 

Sam hums. "Of course, big guy. But it's late and I need sleep. So what are we doing, Bucky? Are you sleeping in here with Steve or joining us in the big bed?" 

"Is there even enough room?" Bucky asks, shoulders tight against his ears. 

"For you, we'll make it." 

They file out of Bucky's room, leaving it disheveled and destroyed, and climb into their bed. Natasha is quick to climb in, sinking under the covers like a cat ready for sleep. Bucky is more hesitant, but he climbs in on the other side, leaving both of the ends open for Sam and Steve. 

Sam pats Steve's shoulder. "Lay with him," he whispers to Steve. 

"Thank you--"

"Quit saying that." Sam rolls his eyes and kisses him quickly. 

Steve's all smiles as he climbs into bed beside Bucky. 

Bucky turns and faces Steve, hesitantly smiling and hiding in the pillow. 

Steve tucks a piece of Bucky's hair out of his face and kisses him again. "I can't believe it took this long to kiss you," Steve whispers against his lips. 

"Only a century in the making," Bucky laughs. 

Natasha groans as she presses her back against Bucky's. "Tonight we sleep, boys. And only sleep." 

"You're no fun," Steve laughs, reaching over to pinch her side. 

She swats at him, giggling. 

Sam pulls her in close. "C'mon, Nat, let them be." 

Steve's not sure who fell asleep first, or how he managed to wind up with Bucky's arms wrapped around his waist. But when he wakes up two hours later, he's sweating for the first time in his sleep. It's gross and makes him squirm, much to Bucky's dismay. He untangles himself from Bucky's metal and flesh grip and sits up. Steve takes off his long sleeve t-shirt and tosses it in the direction of their hamper. He'll get it later. 

And for the first time since he woke up from the ice, Steve sleeps shirtless. 

It'll occur to him later, when he wakes up with Bucky's back pressed to his, Natasha's leg draped over both of them, and Sam's hand draped over the top of their pillows, fingers grazing Steve's hair, that he's not cold. For the first time, Steve doesn't feel the ice or any echoes of what once haunted him. He's warm, internally and externally, in a way he didn't think he'd have again. 

He goes back to sleep, smile on his face, and turns off the alarm for his morning run with Sam. They've earned a lazy morning in bed. 

## ~*~ + One. ~*~

**1:04 AM**

Natasha gasps as she peels her eyes open. 

Alpine stares back, big green eyes blinking down at her. 

"Alpine," she whispers, "go sleep on your dad." 

Alpine readjusts her footing, stepping all over Natasha's chest. 

She grunts as she shifts the cat off her lap and onto Bucky. "You take her," she mumbles, curling into Steve on her other side. 

Bucky grunts back, cuddling the cat close to his chest in his sleep. 

Steve shakes his head, wrapping his arms around Natasha. "What are we going to do with you two?" 

"Cherish us forever," Natasha says, leaning up to kiss him. 

"I suppose," Steve whispers back. 

**3:30 AM**

Steve raises his head as Sam gets out of bed. "You okay?" 

Sam jerks, turning to look over at Steve. "You can't do that to me. I'm an ordinary human with a weak heart. You do that and I may die, Steve. Are you trying to kill me?" 

"I can't help it. Whenever one of you wakes up, I do," Steve says. "I worry that much." 

"And yet you're trying to murder me by causing my heart to give out," Sam says. 

Steve blows him a kiss. "You love me." 

"I do," Sam sighs as he walks toward the bathroom. 

Steve settles back into the pillows, watching the ceiling as he waits for Sam to come back to bed. 

Sam walks back over and lays directly on top of Steve, head tucked under Steve's chin. "Happy?" 

"Very," Steve laughs as he kisses the top of Sam's head. "Want to get under the covers?" 

"No, it's hot under there." 

"Yeah, it is." 

**5:15 AM**

The first alarm goes off just as a wet nose presses against Steve's cheek. "Baby," he says in Sam's ear.

Sam groans from his spot on Steve's chest. He reaches blindly for Steve's phone and turns the alarm off. "I'm going," Sam says as he clambers off Steve and walks around to this empty spot.

"You know, you could always walk him." Steve sits up and looks down at the golden retriever beside the bed, waiting patiently with his leash in his mouth. 

Bucky grunts. "No. You wanted him, you’ll walk him." 

Steve swats at his arm as he stands up. "Jerk." 

"Punk." Bucky presses his face into Sam's chest. "Go." 

"Come on, Patriot. Let's go for a walk, yeah?" Steve asks as he grabs his phone, wallet, and keys off the nightstand and starts for the bedroom door. 

Patriot jogs behind him, whole body wagging with his tail, as he waits for Steve to pull his shoes on and grab his sweatshirt off the couch. He sits for Steve to put on his leash, then the two are off. 

They walk around the block twice before coming home, enough time to let Patriot do his thing and get some energy out before the morning officially starts. "Good job, buddy," Steve cooes as they walk back into the house. He checks all of the locks and windows one more time, slips off his shoes, and tugs his sweatshirt off. As quietly as he can, he slips back in bed and throws the covers back over himself. 

**5:58 AM**

Alpine is meowing in Bucky's face. He can hear her. Steve shifts to see Alpine sitting on Bucky's chest and meowing as she rubs her fluffy face all over his. 

"Buck," Steve says. 

"Yeah, I know," Bucky sighs. He nudges Sam awake. "Move, I have to feed Alpine." 

Sam groans, but stands up and lets Bucky out of the bed. "You're not getting your spot back," he says as he slips back into bed, taking Bucky's place beside Natasha. 

Natasha hums as she checks the clock on the night-stand. "Can we please try and sleep until seven? Please?" She wraps Sam's arm around her and pulls him close, her back to his chest. 

Steve smiles as he drifts back to sleep.   
  


**7:00 AM**

The second alarm goes off. This time it's on Sam's phone.

Steve sits up and stretches. "Sam," he says as he reaches over to nudge Sam. "Time to go." 

Sam flips him off. 

"Fine. I'll go get the shakes ready," Steve says. "Get up or I'll get the ice." 

"You're an asshole, Rogers." 

"You love me." 

"Fuck you." 

"Maybe that'll be your reward if you actually get up and run with me," Steve says as he walks into the bathroom. He quickly uses the bathroom and brushes his teeth, slipping on his running shorts and tank top as he makes his way out the bedroom. 

Bucky's sitting in the living room, a giant bowl of cereal in his lap. "Morning," he says around his spoon. "I pulled out all the smoothie stuff." 

"Protein shakes," Steve corrects. "But thank you." He walks behind the couch and drops a kiss to Bucky's cheek. "Want to join us?" 

"For a run? Yeah, not a chance in hell." Bucky stands up and follows Steve into the kitchen. "Besides, I'm heading back to bed once you two get out of here." 

Steve chuckles as he starts making the protein shakes for him and Sam to down before their run. "If I can get him to leave the bed to begin with." 

Bucky shrugs. "I'll take your spot." 

"You animal," Steve starts. 

Bucky washes his cereal bowl and puts up the giant box. "Alright. Have fun destroying your knees." 

"I will, thank you very much. Enjoy sleeping away your morning." 

"Right, because sleeping until eight or nine is wasting my entire day," Bucky says, rolling his eyes. "I'll drag Sam out of bed." 

"Thank you!" 

Patriot patters into the kitchen as Bucky leaves. "Good morning," Steve says as he pours the shakes. He reaches down to give Patriot a good head scratch. "I'll take you on a run later, yeah? Whatcha think? Unless Sam bails on me, then you may get to run twice today--"

"Are you trading me for the dog?" Sam asks, glaring at him as he grabs his shake. 

Steve grins. "Maybe." 

"Why are you so awake right now?" 

Steve moves to wrap his arms around Sam's waist. "Because I'm happy and today's going to be a great day." 

Sam leans against him. "Okay, if you say so." 

They drink their shakes and slip into their running shoes. "It's still too early to be awake on a Saturday, though, Steve. Not by choice, at least." 

Steve shrugs as he locks the door behind them. "You love it." 

Sam groans, closing his eyes. "I really do." 

**7:32 AM**

Natasha stretches and feels the bed beside her, only finding Bucky. "Hi," she whispers. 

"Morning." Bucky yawns and tucks his face in the crook of her neck. 

"The boys on their run?" 

"Sam was grumpy, as usual," Bucky says. 

Natasha hums. "He'll be happy when he gets back." 

"Always is." Bucky presses a finger to her lips, shushing her. "Sleep while you can." 

**8:12 AM**

Steve carefully climbs back into bed, hair damp from his shower, and drapes himself over Bucky. 

Bucky groans, which turns into a whine as he tries to half-heartedly shove Steve off. "Why can't you let me sleep?" 

"I am! I'm trying to go back to sleep, too," Steve says as he cuddles into Bucky's neck. "Let me sleep, Buck." 

Natasha laughs, shoving Steve. "You're wide awake, there's no way you're going to sleep."

Steve winks at her. "No, but I'm all clean from my shower, and Sam and I are debating between making pancakes or going to get them."

"Make them," Natasha says. "I don't feel like getting dressed." 

Bucky nods. "The lady has a point." 

"Alright, I'll go tell Sam. He's in the shower right now." Steve climbs off Bucky, but kneels on the bed. "I love you." 

"I love you, too, ya sap. Go make us food," Bucky says, pushing Steve's chest with a sock-clad foot. 

Steve rolls his eyes. "Tea or coffee this morning?" 

"Tea for me," Natasha says. 

Bucky considers it for a moment. "Surprise me." 

Steve nods and walks toward the bathroom. He knocks twice. "You were right." 

"HA!" Sam calls from inside the shower. "Told you." 

Steve laughs and walks toward the kitchen to start the kettle. They'll probably spend the day hanging out around the house. Maybe they'll clean or just binge that new show Natasha was telling them about at training yesterday. Maybe they'll all get dressed up and go dancing or at least to a nice dinner. Maybe they'll let him sketch them, taking turns acting as a model for Steve. 

It doesn't matter what they do, Steve thinks. He's just happy to spend the day with his loves. With his family. 

And as he goes about making four mugs of tea, the steam licking at his cheeks, Steve smiles to himself. He’s finally warm, truly warm, without the help of his partners. Steve doesn’t need to wear several layers around the house, no longer needs a weighted duvet to sleep under, and he can finally breathe without feeling the dull pain of ice in his lungs. 

He’s safe. He’s warm. He’s happy. 


End file.
